


miss tail

by pasupa (purplecity)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Crossdressing, Explicit Sexual Content, Heavy Drinking, Host Clubs, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Smoking, takes place in Japan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27861337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplecity/pseuds/pasupa
Summary: There exists a plethora of written rules to working as a host in Tokyo’s busiest red light district, Kabukicho. No sex (on club grounds). No stealing fellow hosts’ customers. Drink as much as you can, then drink some more until you burst. After you burst, drink again because there’s no going back.The most crucial one is unspoken: never fall in love with your customer. Donghyuck thinks it’s the easiest to obey.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan
Comments: 30
Kudos: 112





	miss tail

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the song by the oral cigarettes
> 
> apologies in advance for typos i am a one man band and this is a lot of text;;
> 
> **writing refers to renjun as she/her in the beginning because he's crossdressed, it's only like that for a short bit

_Champagne call._ Donghyuck responds to the words with an enthusiastic echo of his own, lifting his arms into the air and smiling his billion dollar smile at his princess. A young daughter of a wealthy landowner with too much time on her hands—with their glasses in hand and a gentle _tink_ that nearly spills the golden carbonation, they sip the indulgence of royals. 

Tonight, the one-hour princess is his majesty whom he and underling hosts entertain until time is served and they move on to the next, counting their earnings.

The Queen Bee club thrives yet another summer night when the outside world is too humid and the cramped buildings are air-conditioned just a little too cold for comfort, making up for the heat that collects in energetic, drunk clubgoers. Her honeybee workers, excessively coiffed and suited up, enjoy business as usual. Hiding hunger for stacks of paper yen behind charming, wide grins and scripted comforts, washing it all with the sparkling wine.

There exists a plethora of written rules to working as a host in Tokyo’s greatest red light district, Kabukicho. No sex (on club grounds). No stealing fellow hosts’ customers. Drink as much as you can, then drink some more until you burst. After you burst, drink again because there’s no going back. 

The most crucial one is unspoken: never fall in love with your customer. Donghyuck thinks it’s the easiest to obey.

That’s what he thinks. That’s what his throat tells him before it lures another bottle out of his princess’ wallet, never mind how many he’s already popped open that night.

  


—

  


“ _Hey, darling._ ”

Donghyuck had just been informed of a customer picking him as her _shimei_ —a “chosen one”, so to speak—and awaits her with a smile. Greeting her as she joins him behind the booth, her long, straight locks of pitch black catches his attention. 

He finds his breath stolen when he gazes at her easygoing smile. Oh, she is a beauty. Every customer who frequents the club, chats with Donghyuck is beautiful but this one—she’s something special. 

Her blunt fringes and sidelocks framing her small face—the _hime_ cut as it’s called—reminiscent of a princess back in the day. A lacey black dress, conservative up top but teasingly short, tugged higher when she crosses her pale leg over the other. Her long lashes fluttering, glossy, pink lips curved and porcelain skin shining under multicolored club lights. 

The relaxed posture and expression is evident to Donghyuck that she’s not a first-timer to host clubs, even if this is her first visit to the Queen Bee. She could possibly be in the sister industry with her looks—most hosts’ clients tend to be from similar businesses. It certainly explains their luxury brand purses seemingly carrying nothing except for cash and their full intentions to splurge on late night entertainment. 

Somewhere in her mysterious gaze is the lustrous light of curiosity that fades before Donghyuck can catch it.

“ _Diving straight in for me, hm? Not even a little interest for the others here?_ ” Donghyuck asks, leaning back in the leather cushions. She combs part of her hair behind her ear, the jewelry shimmering brightly. A matching set of earrings to her heart-shaped necklace. They must be made of diamonds with that quality of sheen.

It’s a fair question, not one to simply brew a conversation (which _is_ part of his job anyways). On their first visit, customers have the chance to purchase a special course where all the available hosts rotate and meet them individually. To get a taste of what the club offers before they can fixate on one particular host, their _shimei._ They get to pick from a physical laminated menu of the men, bust shots and everything, something Donghyuck has always found funny. And a bit ironic.

This customer sitting besides him didn’t go through that trial experience. Instead, she chose Donghyuck—Haechan as is his stage name of sorts—the moment she left the cubic elevator and stepped into the Queen Bee. The reason for which Donghyuck pays no mind—there’s no need to, not when it’s paying his bills and keeping his night busy with what he’s hired to perform: pure flattery.

She shrugs. Her posture is elegant, never a second of discomfort or bashfulness. 

“ _I know my type,_ ” she says, her voice softer than he expected, almost like she’s holding herself back. Yet she sounds smooth and of course, not a single note of the common first time nervousness. A little on the deeper side, too. All the more alluring. “ _No need to waste my time with the others._ ”

The last comment garners a chuckle from Donghyuck. He loves it when his customers are bold like the mystery beauty is, finding the consequent conversation to be engaging and playful, just how he likes to spend his time hosting. Picking up on something else that intrigues him, he tilts his head, finger tapping his knee under the navy trousers.

“ _Hakata-ben?_ ” 

Donghyuck refers to a particular way that she ends her phrasing, a dialect originating from a long bullet train ride headed south to the Kyushu region. Fukuoka and its Hakata ward, specifically. His teeth show in an amiable yet sly grin. 

“ _It’s no wonder you’re so cute._ ”

This clearly amuses her. She leans a bit closer, lazily blinking her eyes, utterly charming Donghyuck who has to gulp the saliva he’s been collecting. 

“I moved to the area when I was three,” she explains. Donghyuck’s eyes enlarge at the sudden change of language, a language he’s more than familiar with.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. You speak Korean, too?”

The fact that Donghyuck is Korean is not kept a secret nor is it too difficult to detect, regardless of his mostly perfected Japanese. Some women even come visit him because they’re attracted to that very fact, though it’s a first that a customer speaks fluently and, now he learns, is likely from a foreign country in similar fashion.

“You are like an endless box of surprises,” Donghyuck says, watching an odd gleam in her eyes reflect the overhead lights at his remark.

“You have no idea,” she purrs, sits tantalizingly close to Donghyuck, legs brushing against one another.

 _Ah,_ he thinks. She’s that type of customer. But that doesn’t bother him one bit. If she requests for more favors beyond the company and drinks, he has little confidence that he’d be able to decline. Especially not with her seductive half-lidded gaze and all-knowing grin that has him wanting to see her treasures.

“Call me Renra,” she says, to which Donghyuck nods agreeingly. 

Customers use nicknames just as often as hosts do, usually as a way to keep some amount of privacy, detachment from their day to day lives. Host clubs are where people throw away identities they’re bored of, reborn into someone new. Meeting men and women doing the same, celebrating each other because no one else will. 

They are loving, understanding with the shared secrecy from the uptight, merciless society of Tokyo. No matter how accepting the world becomes, the gaze of skeptics will forever remain. Wine glasses and shameless flirts salvage the lost and the hurt, or so it seems.

“I hear today’s your birthday.”

Donghyuck nods. “It is, princess. Are you gonna celebrate for me?”

The date is June sixth and it is indeed Donghyuck’s birthday. When hosts are working on their special day, customers like to help them indulge in a treat of pricey champagne or gifts. His last customer provided both in the form a wrapped Cartier watch and one Ace of Spades to share. He’s honestly satisfied in terms of birthday bonuses that contribute to his host ranking, but the eyes he stares into entice him to yearn for more, for a night on the job that is like none other by the command of the one who goes by Renra.

All she does is smile angelically. “Let me spoil you.” 

Crossing her arms, she turns to the two _helps_ seated on the opposite side of the table. Being rookie hosts, they’re there on a rotational time limit, meant to liven up the conversation if the main host fails to do so. Unfortunately for them, Donghyuck and his customer won’t be needing their presence, except to run orders. 

“ _I want to see a champagne tower._ ”

Donghyuck and the helpers combined blink at each other, mouth agape incredulously. Clearly, none of the three were expecting to hear those exact words during their shifts at Donghyuck’s table, and it’s for a good reason. 

A champagne tower is the single most expensive thing a client can purchase at any host club. How many bottles a tower empties will depend on its height but the norm at the Queen Bee is six. Six bottles of a brand of the customer’s choosing which reflects in the final price. 

The helpers hurriedly announce the champagne tower that’s been ordered, bringing all the other unoccupied hosts to gather—there must be nearly twenty of them, though it’s hard to count when most of them have identical bleached hairstyles—at their corner, underlings preparing the structure of the tower itself. 

A champagne tower does not only entail the pouring of fizzy liquid on an impressive stack of wine glasses, but a performance as well. A special chant and serenade for the customer who’s bought the copious amount of champagne as a show of appreciation for their patronage. Donghyuck at the center of it all, well-rehearsed in the sweet thankings for his customer spewed into the microphone, leading the performance with his deviously handsome looks. 

At the very least, Donghyuck is astonished. Champagne towers are the ultimate luxuries for any given host. Clients with that sort of wealth typically gravitate to the top three hosts who are busy all night, never a moment to breathe with the line of customers waiting to see them, competing over who can buy the most for them. They make up the very small minority of hosts who receive incredible things like luxury cars as gifts from time to time.

Donghyuck himself sits at a comfortable sixth place—nothing extraordinary but it’s enough for his name and face to be plastered upon the illuminated ranking displayed outside the building. However, the champagne tower is his first—this Renra might be his top customer now, sitting with her cheery smile, applauding the theatrics of the Ace of Spades splashing, trickling down the tower of glasses. Her expression is light and joyful like a child’s, not a single qualm or bother about the unbelievable amount of money she’s just spent for Donghyuck’s birthday.

Donghyuck too finds himself astounded by the bubbly gold that paints the translucent tower of glass into that of a magnificent chandelier. Never has a sight been more bewitching than the waterfall of _millions_ of yen, pooling into chalices passed around to every host gathered, all orchestrated for him and him only. 

And when he looks back to his customer while everyone is busy sipping and hollering, watching the foggy colors morph in her dark, composed eyes, he discovers there’s something else that’s just as enchanting as the champagne chandelier crafted in his name. No, even more. Far more enchanting and palatable than the alcohol.

Sparks fly, champagne kicks in and he’s entrapped by his dangerously gorgeous customer. Charmed by her full smiles and the calamity she brings, poisoning Donghyuck's mind with something abysmal that he doesn’t recognize in the slightest.

“I have a second birthday present in mind,” she hums after they’ve gulped at least two glasses more of champagne. 

Donghyuck raises his brow. “Really?”

“Mhm.” Nodding and with closed eyes, she smiles into another sip. “But only if you figure out my secret.” 

“What secret?” Donghyuck asks, unable to hide his curiosity. 

Part of his face is a faint pink hue after chatting, sitting for the alcohol to mix into his system. As much as a drinking veteran he’s become ever since working as a host, he’s surprised to see the ease in Renra’s composure. There hasn’t been a single change in the way she grins and hides her secrets. Her petite hand stays upon her glass, emptied before Donghyuck manages to finish his portion. 

In one breath, she flutters her lashes, glossy lips splitting, a particular tooth poking out almost like a tiny fang. In the same breath she inhales, Donghyuck’s own air is stolen. The heavy beats of house music and cackling in the background overlaps the irregular thumping of his heart. 

She’s beautiful and so, so dangerous. He can’t look away.

“Figure it out, handsome.”

From her black leather handbag, she takes out a small card and slides it onto the table in front of Donghyuck, downturned. She rises from her seat, smoothing out the skirt of her dress and sends a wink to the host’s way, who bewilderedly watches her every graceful moment. His eyes, he can’t take them off, not even as she makes her way to the register and pays her bills, all in the form of cash from her bag.

Donghyuck slips the card between his fingers and reads the text, his bemused chuckle flattening when the next customer enters her turn with the bright Haechan. He hides the card, stuffing it away in an inner pocket of his suit, playing off the delighted smile as his cordial greeting to the lady. 

How risky. He nearly lost himself there.

  


—

  


“Hope you didn’t drink yourself to death.”

After closing hours and escaping the club grounds right away, Donghyuck makes his way to the seat next to “Renra” at the counter, who twirls the straw in her half-empty strawberry margarita. Red chunks floating in the otherwise clear liquor, its color bursting bright. She pinches the straw and holds the cup to Donghyuck’s lips who takes a terse sip.

“I’ve had more than usual, that much I know,” Donghyuck says with a husky laugh, smiling with his dazed eyes. His elbows rest on the countertop. His tanned forearms are exposed after his sleeves were rolled up—even in the dead of night, summers in Japan are disgustingly humid. Simply standing outside feels like being encompassed by a heater that blows unbearably hot winds. “This is a nice place.”

Donghyuck’s customer nods quietly. The card passed to him was the business card of a lounge, one of the late, _late_ hour types that stay open long past normal curfew. 

The walk from Kabukicho to West Shinjuku wasn’t too bad and he’d argue it gave him some time to cool off after sitting in the stuffy host club atmosphere for hours. But god, he’s so drunk—he nearly stumbled in front of the busy streets with taxi cars and motorbikes too many times, not to mention barely avoiding bumping shoulders with an intimidating man in a tank top and shaved head.

He understood the message after seeing the address—the _come see me_ and heart etched in pen weren’t necessary but sure did make him smile like an idiot—and couldn’t wait until the Queen Bee bid Kabukicho goodnight. His customers usually get his undivided attention but the entire time, his mind wouldn’t quit replaying the way Renra’s hair flowed with her figure, her pinkie in the air as she held her champagne.

Donghyuck knew the second he tried engaging with the lady who came after Renra that his night was ruined. Not in a negative way—just that all he could think of was that _one_ visitor, which disrupts his whole rhythm as a host. The point of being a host, being a host’s client is that there are no strings attached to the sweet, short-lived, alcoholic time spent together. They live through it and forget the moment it passes, but not Renra. 

She dances in his thoughts, occupying every edge of his mind with her supple, inviting lips and delicate fingers, tapping the glass like hypnosis.

The lounge is empty for the most part. Quiet, calm bars don’t match the desires of youngsters playing around in the unforgiving streets of Shinjuku. Donghyuck can’t say he’s been to many either, not when his entire persona is surrounded by some of the most brazen parts of Tokyo nightlife. But this—the relaxed, orange lighting from low-hanging lamps, dark wallpaper and the faintest piano sonatas—it’s a nice change. Even nicer shared with someone who blends perfectly in its admirable serenity. 

“Want one?” Donghyuck turns his head at the inquiry, blinking at Renra pointing a digit at the margarita. “It’ll be on me.”

“I’m alright. I haven’t processed all the champagne yet. It’s gonna get so much worse if I get one of those sugary things,” Donghyuck says, shrugging. His torso shifts at a slight angle, turning so he faces the long locks and pursed, peachy lips. “What’s the special present you were talking about? I haven’t stopped wondering what it could be.”

Renra giggles softly, chewing on the tip of the black straw. 

“Well, did you figure out my secret?”

“Hm…”

Donghyuck’s body retracts so he can get one long gaze at the figure before him. There could be a thousand things that this secret is, he thinks with crooked lips. Is it something about the bag? Maybe something Renra is wearing? The possibilities could be endless.

Staring at the dress, the jewelry, the impeccably flawless configuration that makes up this enigmatic person gets him thinking. It comes slow but when the three-inch heel starts brushing against his leg, stroking up and down and “Renra” merely smiles, gnawing on the straw, Donghyuck has a moment of epiphany. 

His jaw hangs open but by no means is he upset nor is he frowning. In fact, it’s quite the opposite—he stuffs half his open smile of realization into his fist.

“That’s a wig. Isn’t it?”

Donghyuck earns a foxy smile and a cute nose scrunch, one that he causes him to momentarily forget how to breathe.

“I look good, don’t I?” The voice drops an octave and it sounds much more natural, somehow even prettier to the host’s ears. 

Donghyuck merely nods, sincerely amazed. He didn’t suspect a thing and obviously no one else did, either. Everything about the appearance and personality was so well-crafted, it’s no wonder Donghyuck had the faint idea that it was all a little too perfect. 

Still, the revelation changes nothing about Donghyuck falling victim to those mesmerizing eyes. It makes things worse, to be frank. Way, way worse, because now Donghyuck legitimately can’t stop gawking, not even if it’s shamelessly overt.

“I’m Renjun,” he says, meeting Donghyuck’s lovestruck gaze, humming amusedly. “Though you can still call me Renra if you want.”

“Is that like your stage name?” Donghyuck asks, his finger pressed along his cheek in deep contemplation. 

Renjun purposefully combs his hand through the long strands of his wig, keeping his eyes fixed on Donghyuck. Everything he does in front of Donghyuck deliberate, just so he can fall even further. And it works, it works too well. He’s masterful, patient. Donghyuck is completely defenseless against the deadly spell he casts, luring him in with soft purrs and slow blinks. 

“Something like that, _Haechan._ ”

“Just Donghyuck is fine,” he says, clearing his throat. Renjun slides him the margarita across the surface which he takes, only to absentmindedly stir its contents. Ice jingles like a bell along to the tune of Renjun’s voice echoing in his head.

Now rotated in his seat so that his body faces Renjun’s direction, Donghyuck sits back comfortably, elbow stretched to the side and resting on the counter. He brings the glass to his lips for a sultry sip, cocking his brow at Renjun’s sunny disposition.

“I’m curious,” he says, clutching the margarita midair, strawberry slush melting on his tongue. “What do you have planned for me, Renjun?”

A chuckle sounds from Renjun, the _I’m glad you asked_ sort from his happily curled lips. He faces Donghyuck as well, putting a skinny digit on his bottom lip. His tongue peeks out, pointing upward and towards the edge of his slightly open mouth, licking the fang Donghyuck noticed earlier in the night. 

Renjun’s fingers mime the posture of holding a mic to his lips—or that’s what Donghyuck mistakenly thinks at first. Coupled with an innocent tilt of his head, Renjun says, “ _Fela,_ of course.”

  


—

  


Donghyuck has done plenty of “extended business” with his customers after closing hours. Almost every host does—a man would be either lying through his teeth or incredibly new if he said no customer has suggested the idea to him.

The thing about the after-hours services is that they’re always promoted by the client—that’s common courtesy—since that’ll show they’re interested in paying for it. Donghyuck has both declined and accepted such implications, based purely on whether or not he was in the mood. He could care less about attraction since there never is any to begin with.

That’s why Renjun is different. He just can’t admit that—he denies it—because that’s not how things work. How they’re supposed to work. 

Even as his hand travels under Renjun’s dress as he’s straddled by the lithe figure, fervently, drunkenly making out, he can’t afford to give in. But then again, he doesn’t think about anything at all while it’s happening. All he knows is Renjun, the feel of Renjun’s shape in his palms and lips.

Renjun’s lip gloss is peach flavored, he figures out. It’s sweet like the pack of gummies he’d sometimes eat as a meal when he was sick of ingesting anything at all. Just about the same texture too, though Renjun’s lips are softer like marshmallow.

A playful giggle slips past Renjun’s lips when they part their mouths to breathe. His smaller hands cup Donghyuck’s face, gazing with burning intent, while Donghyuck runs his hands along the line of his body from the thighs up to the waist. 

They didn’t last long at the lounge. Before they knew it, their desires took over and Renjun’s hand was slipping down Donghyuck’s inner thigh teasingly, while Donghyuck fed him the last drops of the margarita, straw pressed between his fingertips. 

_Fela_ —slang for blowjob—would continue to ring in his head until he grabbed Renjun by the hip, whispering to him that he needed it now. Renjun gave a him a kiss on the cheek and told him a soft and simple _okay._

Donghyuck’s apartment room is ridiculously clean for a life as messy as his. It’s horrendously spacious, fit for wealthy folks whose souls are filled with paper money. He didn’t buy it himself, of course—a customer did when he was a bit younger and still living in a rundown place. The wide floors are nice but they’re impossible to fill. Even Donghyuck has a hard time telling that a person actually uses the room as a living space. 

The only place with signs of organic life is his bedroom for obvious reasons. Empty condom packages here and there on the floor, the nightstand drawer where he keeps lube and the like constantly opened halfway. The bed has never been made—what’s the point when its sheets get ruffled the very next evening?

Donghyuck’s blazer had been discarded to the floor when he and Renjun entered, then tossed themselves onto the bed. Renjun seemingly had lots of fun half-playing, half-not-really-undoing the buttons of Donghyuck’s dress shirt while their mouths were preoccupied with one another. “I like the subtle destruction of a proper man,” Renjun mumbled once into Donghyuck’s ear, whatever that meant. 

Donghyuck didn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything. Renjun is all he wants, and Renjun he gets. 

“Mm,” Renjun murmurs when Donghyuck dives into his neck, planting sloppy kisses all over, hands placed on his broad shoulders. “Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck doesn’t answer—he’s busy. His hands snake up further, pulling up the skirt and finding Renjun’s ass cheeks to grope. Renjun prolongs his consequent moan, his hips bucking gently, pushing into Donghyuck’s already stiff self. Donghyuck’s teeth sink into the skin from the overwhelming pleasure in that pressure.

“Donghyuck, so touchy,” Renjun whines into his shoulder, sticking his ass out to invite Donghyuck to grab more and so he does. The grip is so strong, massaging the softness that they both wonder if it’ll leave marks. “Touch me more.” 

“ _Fela_ first, darling. You promised one,” Donghyuck reminds, somewhat muffled from his abundant kissing of Renjun’s neck. He hears a chuckle, followed by the sight of Renjun biting on his index fingertip. Donghyuck swears his cock twitches just from that salacious look directed at him.

“I know, I know. But I want you to fuck me hard after I do.”

“If you earn it,” Donghyuck challenges with a halfway smile, although he’s planning to either way. Just curious for Renjun’s reaction, if it motivates him (because he is anticipating a _good ass blowjob_ ) to do his best. 

Renjun’s eyes sparkle in glee as he travels down Donghyuck’s body, situating himself in front of his crotch. The tip of his tongue sticks out preemptively, eager for Donghyuck’s cock like a child for candy. When he unzips the pants and lets the full length breathe, his eyes grow wide, elated at how thick the whole thing is.

“Wow,” Renjun can’t help but exclaim, hand already stroking Donghyuck’s cock and reaping a stifled groan from him. “ _So big,_ ” he adds, speaking in the tone of a high-energy _gyaru._

His lips meet the tip of Donghyuck’s cock immediately after, at first kissing every part lovingly until he draws slow, long licks from the base to top, repeating so he doesn’t miss any side. Donghyuck trembles under the wet warmth, his insides burning. Renjun’s round eyes blink at him then he giggles, wrapping his entire mouth over the top half of his cock, murmuring his delight for the manly taste.

Donghyuck observes with his bottom lip gnawed on, hand reaching for Renjun’s face. His sidelocks gently fall and cover, so Donghyuck helps him comb it behind his ear so he can enjoy the view of Renjun eating him up like ice cream. The indecent, lewd movements of his lips and tongue contrasting his innocent beauty is everything—Donghyuck moans loud as he feels the entirety of his cock embraced by Renjun’s wet mouth and throat. 

“Doesn’t the hair get in the way?” Donghyuck inquiries, holding back a chunk of his wig’s sidelocks. Renjun’s eyes glance upward, finishing his first full swallow and pulling the erection out with a _pop._

“It’s fine. I’ve done this plenty of times,” Renjun says with a snicker, bringing himself close to Donghyuck’s cock, smiling against its thickness thoughtfully. “Plus, I look hot right now so I wanna keep it on.”

He’s not wrong about that. Donghyuck sucks in a breath through gritted teeth. 

“You do this often, baby?”

“Sorta. It’s fun.”

“None of them turn you down?” Donghyuck asks, caressing Renjun’s head affectionately. 

In order to talk, Renjun hasn’t stuffed his mouth with Donghyuck’s cock again, instead opting to give it faster, messier licks that are just as effective in driving Donghyuck close to climax.

“Mm,” Renjun mutters, closing his eyes in thought. “They don’t really care. It’s no different than anal with a girl when I’m dressed like this.”

Renjun flicks his half-lidded eyes towards Donghyuck a lot while he’s expertly sucking his cock. Each time they meet gazes Donghyuck thinks his blood pressure will rise until he collapses, sucked dry of his come when his body can no longer can hold back. 

He wonders what sort of whimsical expression Renjun will make at him, taking everything of him like it’s nothing. Like Donghyuck is nothing except for an erect cock and a strong lust that can’t be doused into disappearance by alcohol. All of which shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary but somehow, with Renjun, it is.

“Fuck—you’re too good,” Donghyuck hisses as Renjun eats him up again, relentlessly shifting the erection in and out of his cavity. Renjun brings him closer and closer, tugging at the strings attached to Donghyuck’s limbs in a puppet show. Teasing him with something he deeply wants but can never remember, not after years of drowning in Kabukicho. 

How long has it been since he was torn apart by business? He can’t even count the years. Everything gone with the waters, Renjun a tsunami destroying what Donghyuck had constructed to keep himself sane.

Renjun drinks Donghyuck’s overflowing champagne with an unbreakable smile.

  


—

  


“Oh, god—Donghyuck.”

The aggressive thrusts of Donghyuck’s hips fill the night and his empty apartment, bed squeaking under his force. His open window with the draped milky curtains he’s never touched before spills the secrets of lively city Tokyo and they shine upon Renjun’s legs, his outstretched arms, his neck. His black dress absorbs the light and Donghyuck gets lost, only seeing the darkness spread across Renjun’s body. 

With a growl, Donghyuck leans, hugs Renjun from behind as he relentlessly slams his cock into his delicate frame. Renjun on his knees, begging for sweet release and _more, faster, harder_ for the journey there. His tongue slips out his mouth absentmindedly which Donghyuck catches, turning their heads for a sideways kiss, even in the midst of their mismatched heavy panting. 

“You’re so tight,” Donghyuck grunts into Renjun’s lips then relocates to his neck, clamping down with his teeth, surely leaving a bold imprint. His arms tightly embrace Renjun’s trembling torso as though he could slip away any second, refusing to allow their shared flames to burn out. 

“ _Fuck,_ princess, I’m so close.”

It slides off his tongue naturally. Countless times he’s repeated this routine for his various princesses, some of whom he forgets their name, so he resorts to calling ‘princess’ to hide the fact. He remembers Renjun’s name—how could he not—yet his lips utter the same. All the same, him ramming into a customer’s ass with orgasm on his mind. 

Renjun is special in his mind but his body begs to differ. He chases and chases but his hands don’t even bother to snatch Renjun’s tail to stop him from running. Muscle memory beats his psyche, weak at the sensation of Renjun’s hot walls melting his cock. So dizzy from the heat and the impossible pleasure. 

“Donghyuck,” Renjun calls between high-pitched whimpering and Donghyuck answers his princess’ yearnings, pressing his lips firm on his shoulder that the dress got too tired of concealing.

“I’m coming, baby,” Donghyuck mumbles, pressing himself into Renjun so rough that he feels his pelvis could give out any second. Likewise, Renjun is near collapsing and falling faint onto the mattress, only Donghyuck’s arms keeping him up. His moans direct into Donghyuck’s nearby ears, a mellow song of a siren dragging bewitched Donghyuck under the icy waters. 

“I need you,” Renjun says, gasping at the sizzling heat traveling in and out of his offered body. Blissfully unaware of its toxins. “Need your come in me, Donghyuck.”

 _I need you._

Such treacherous words. They don’t hold up in this world, the miserable world they dwell in where there are no angels. Just the lone devil ruling from the skies. Watching the people squirm and swap spit, sweat, thinking them mindless little worms with a joyful grin.

  


—

  


By the time Donghyuck comes to in the morning, head splitting from the late night champagne, Renjun is gone. When he checks his wristwatch that he forgot to remove before crashing into slumber, the hands tell him it’s a quarter past ten. Remembering he has more work tonight, he groans as he drags himself out of bed, searching for his stash of painkillers.

There isn’t any fresh food in his kitchen, he discovers. Makes sense, considering he hasn’t gone out to do substantial grocery shopping in weeks, completely relying on alcohol and convenient store meals or stand-up ramen shops for food. 

His peripheral vision spots a sheet of paper and a stack of numerous—maybe thirty or so—10,000 yen bills left on the kitchen counter. He picks up the note, reading familiar handwriting that insists on him “filling his kitchen to his heart’s content” with the extra money given to him. A smile surfaces with a light chuckle despite him not knowing what his heart needs to be content, as Renjun says. But he sticks some of the bills into his wallet anyways and leaves the room, lungs begging for fresh air. 

Work is going to be hell.

That’s the conclusion he has when he’s out indulging in a plate of chicken katsu curry with extra lettuce, washing everything down with a plastic cup of iced oolong tea. Go Go Curry—one of his favorites out of the quick to be seated and order places in Shinjuku. His stomach is thanking the lord for the godly fried chicken and curry rice but even in his short moment of gluttony, the images of Renjun’s face flushed with ecstasy constantly flicker in his mind.

His lunch gets harder and harder to swallow until he has to put down his spoon. Funky tunes of Shiina Ringo’s new album playing overhead and Renjun’s whines take over his senses. He’s lost in his own head, eyes blankly staring at the menu plastered on the wall in front of him, vibrant graphics advertising a limited edition summertime combo meal. 

Tokyo is busy. Teeming with people who travel from one place to another with purpose. When night falls, the streets of the red light district are ruthless. It’s an awful place to reside in but Donghyuck calls it his home. Crime isn’t nearly as dangerous as the temptations are and the life-risking gambles they’re involved in. 

Donghyuck is tangled up in everything far beyond redemption and he intends to keep it that way because this is his comfort. Renjun—he needs to see him again. Just to make sure he isn’t going to overthink things, to make sure he suppresses his ever growing desires. 

He never usually goes for a second night of pleasures but with Renjun, it’ll be inevitable. And he hopes it’ll be enough to satisfy his gut.

  


—

  


“ _Hello? Are you listening?_ ”

The voice snaps Donghyuck out of his turbulent thoughts. 

“ _Oh, I’m so sorry. Where were we, princess?_ ”

The woman, one in sparkling makeup, stylish blonde curls and her rose-red lips shaped in a frown, grabs her purse and shifts away from Donghyuck. 

She’s a cabaret girl and a regular customer of Donghyuck’s. Because of her line of work, she visits late in the night near closing hours to blow off some steam. Usually she’s bright and spirited but the way her host is constantly staring into the distance has bothered her too much. 

“ _I’m leaving. Clearly you’re not into it tonight,_ ” she says in contempt, getting up from the booth, the click-clack of her heels acting like needles in Donghyuck who blinks at her, defeated. The helpers at the booth grimace slightly while Donghyuck, running a hand through his golden locks, tiredly sighs. 

She’s right. It may be subtle but Donghyuck is losing his touch and his spunk he typically brings to the table. This situation is exactly what he was worried about when Renjun seemingly never left his thoughts. It’s urgent that he gets this resolved otherwise it won’t only be one customer leaving early. All of his income depends on earnings, commissions from his precious customers, so he needs to present his best to them. 

Why is Renjun lingering on his mind for so long, anyways? It’s not as if they did anything special. Business is business, just like usual. But nothing about the way a beast buried deep within Donghyuck is trying to crawl out, calling Renjun’s name in desperation is normal. 

There isn’t _supposed_ to be anything special about Renjun and his captivating looks but there just is. Donghyuck feels a miasma clouding his senses, one with the addicting scent of Renjun’s peach lip gloss. The more he tries to ponder, the thicker the fog becomes until, presumably, he can no longer find himself.

Donghyuck’s manager shoots him a dirty glare of warning from the register with his last customer paying for only a couple cheap drinks they had. 

Donghyuck huffs in frustration, though it lasts for mere moments because a familiar figure enters the club soon after. His entire face illuminates at the signature fringes and sidelocks, even if the rest of the hair is tied in a high ponytail this time around.

His gaze follows Renjun’s figure as he gracefully steps to his booth and comfortably seats himself. 

“I missed you,” and it’s not just his over-recited, cheesy script speaking. He blinks a couple times, eyes not so discreetly traveling up and down. “You look hot. Really hot.”

Renjun chuckles. He does not underdress for the occasion—his beige-yellow plaid dress has a low neckline and spaghetti straps, showing off an irresistible amount of his shoulders and chest. A thin white cardigan barely covers himself, hanging at his elbows rather than hooked over the full arms. The glittery eyeshadow and dark lashes remain the same as do the glossy pink lips. Donghyuck misses their plump touch against his. 

“Had lots to drink?” Renjun asks, holding his purse—a different brand than yesterday’s, Donghyuck notes—and tapping its strap with his fingers.

Donghyuck shakes his head. “Just a couple cocktails.” The painful truth; his sales haven’t been fantastic tonight. He looks to Renjun, who patiently waits with his sweet smile. “You know, that was my first ever champagne tower.”

Renjun appears genuinely surprised. “Really?” 

Opening his purse, he lets Donghyuck take a peek inside its velvety contents. As is common for host club regulars, all he can see are stacks upon stacks of yen bills stuffed inside. “Anything you want?” Renjun wonders, tilting his head. “I can afford every bottle in this building twice.”

Amusedly, Donghyuck smiles. Of course he’d love it if Renjun actually did purchase everything the club offers since that would make his host ranking skyrocket. But neither of them can physically drink that much nor is it the thing he’s looking forward to most when Renjun is around.

“Nothing in particular. Whatever the princess wishes to have,” Donghyuck replies with a practiced wink. 

“If you insist.” With a return of the grin, Renjun looks to the helpers, ignoring the fact that they’ve been gawking at him the entire conversation. “ _Get me the most expensive bottle you have._ ”

Donghyuck has the pleasure to announce the champagne call of a Dom Pérignon Rosé, a most valuable bottle that costs over a million yen, indeed the highest price available at the Queen Bee. Donghyuck has learned by now to not be shocked over Renjun’s reckless spending, which doesn’t really matter anymore because the lights concentrated on Renjun cause his whole guise to dazzle and Donghyuck loses his path in the galaxy of his eyes. 

Donghyuck leads the ritual, mic in hand, similarly to the champagne tower event with a number of other hosts joining the celebration of the purchase. Champagne calls are unique in that they call for a chug of the bottle, split in two turns so both the customer and the host indulges in every ounce bought. It starts with the customer; ladies first, as they say. Renjun is handed the bottle, nodding his head politely.

Donghyuck has done this before but never has it felt like a dream.

The chants of his coworkers, Renjun’s dainty hand gripping the bottle as Dom Pérignon Rosé’s godliness slips down his throat in heavy gulps. A charm that spins Donghyuck’s head, commanding him to fixate on Renjun downing half the champagne like it’s breast milk, lips eagerly puckering on the lime glass. His every swallow satisfying his empty insides to the brim, fizzing and popping when they land with a brazen splash. 

Chug, Renjun. Chug, Donghyuck. Chug so the night may live on.

When Renjun is finished, a helper host excitedly transfers it to Donghyuck’s waiting hand for the second part of the ritual. The champagne tastes sweeter than yesterday. More bubbly, too. Chugging is never fun. The drink burns the candle wick trail it takes along his throat to his chest. 

He pushes back the threat of an indecent burp, instead _ahh_ -ing as the hosts cheer. He looks to Renjun who smiles comfortably, wiping a drop of leftover champagne from his chin with a small towel the staff offers him. Impossible to tell that he just drank half a million yen’s worth of sparkling wine. 

The applause and hooting fill the people-dense space as it does with Donghyuck’s poor ears, positioned in the center of the crowd of drunk hosts. The stench of a multitude of high-end cologne brands is enough for him to scrunch his nose and separate himself from his coworkers. 

It feels like beholding Renjun’s smile clears away the unpleasantly artificial fragrance, despite him knowing that’s not realistic at all. Then again, there’s nothing realistic about these nights he and Renjun drink under, the way the moonlight oddly shines upon Renjun’s silky skin and his dark eyes devour Shinjuku’s fluorescent lights.

Renjun is ethereal. Its synonym—too good to be true.

  


—

  


Renjun was well prepared for the _tsuyu_ summer rains. Donghyuck wasn’t.

Somewhere in the stash of money Renjun hid a compact Uniqlo umbrella inside his purse that they share after leaving the building. Donghyuck holds the umbrella for the shorter Renjun in the middle.

“Can’t afford to ruin my makeup,” Renjun says when Donghyuck compliments his readiness for the abrupt showers. “You should carry one around, too. I can’t believe you don’t even bring a bag to work.”

Donghyuck pats the pocket on the breast of his suit that holds his wallet. “Everything I need is here.”

“Don’t complain when you get robbed,” Renjun remarks with a roll of his eyes. He gently stumbles into Donghyuck, leaning closely to his arm holding the umbrella. They huddle close, the compact umbrella’s span not meant for two grown men to share without sacrificing a limb or two to the rain gods. 

Kabukicho is notably boisterous when rain is added to the recipe. Wet roads enhance the vrooming of cars speeding by and the threat of getting doused in rainwater doesn’t hinder most streetwalkers and potential clients alike. Colorful, flashing signs reflect in the puddles on the gray concrete, blinding anyone who walks by. Donghyuck quite likes the rain, chiefly in the summer. It helps him forget about his droplets of sweat that blend into rain on his face. 

“You wanna drop by a hotel for the night?” Renjun suddenly asks as they cross a street, the green walking man symbol blinking brightly. 

Donghyuck nods. “Sure, darling. Which one?”

“My dad’s.”

As Donghyuck, puzzled, stares on, he and Renjun approach one of the many yellow taxis waiting along the sidewalk. To protect him from the rain, Donghyuck holds the umbrella as Renjun climbs in the back seat, quickly crouching to get in after the fact.

“ _The Crystal Tear, please,_ ” Renjun tells the driver who nods and reminds them to wear their seat belts. He notices Donghyuck’s agape mouth a couple seconds delayed.

“No fucking way. Your dad owns Crystal Tear?” Donghyuck asks as they begin to drive off, astonished at the news, half unbelieving. 

Crystal Tear—an international hotel chain that everyone residing in Tokyo knows the name of. Important politicians, celebrities and the like stay at the Shinjuku Crystal Tear, an undoubtedly high-class hotel with ridiculous prices for its luxuries. Donghyuck has his fair share of customers from social classes way beyond his zone but the son of a major, worldwide businessman may be a first (aside from the obvious first that is his client being a son rather than a daughter).

“Mhm,” Renjun replies casually as though it’s nothing. “It’s where I’m staying for the week.”

“Ah,” Donghyuck mumbles, the disbelief lingering. He glances to Renjun, whose smile has faded into the darkness of the taxi. “Staying?”

“Oh, yeah.” With his re-lit eyes, Renjun behaves as though the fact completely slipped out of mind. “I live down in Kitakyushu. I’m just visiting Tokyo because he wanted me to discuss hotel business.”

“You mean you’re gonna be the future CEO?” Donghyuck jokes, although part of his joke comes from a genuine inquiry.

Renjun scoffs quietly. For some reason, Donghyuck feels the atmosphere surrounding Renjun has been dropping in temperature ever since their conversation started. He doesn’t even make eye contact anymore, instead gazing at the car window, rain dribbling against its glass.

“Definitely not. I’m just gonna live off his wealth until I die at the age of 32.”

“That’s… oddly specific,” Donghyuck softly says. Renjun’s arms have crossed each other, somewhat hugging his limbs close. Donghyuck wonders if he feels the intensifying cold, too. 

The only time when Donghyuck detects the life in his eyes is when they pass by particularly radiant signs on buildings. Uncharacteristically, his blank expression exudes a type of indifference—not towards Donghyuck, but rather its disfigured reflection staring back from the window.

Renjun shifts his legs. “There’s not a chance I’m gonna survive my thirties at this rate. But I’m fine with how things are now.”

“How are things?”

“You know what it’s like.” Renjun turns his nose to Donghyuck, his gaze dull yet unrelenting, boring into Donghyuck’s. “Fooling around. _Fucking_ around. Drinking like there’s no tomorrow. Nothing to think about, just the moment. And when it ends, you wash it away with another bottle to start anew.”

Renjun’s fingers tap to an inaudible beat. Donghyuck watches—for someone who dolls himself up so beautifully, he would’ve expected the nails to be pampered just as much. Pedicured at the minimum. But his nails are unsightly, to put it a bit harsh. Uneven ridges and marks everywhere—the work of excessive chewing, probably.

“Poetic,” is all Donghyuck has to say. 

It does resonate in him. After all, Renjun had just described the average cadence of life of a Kabukicho dweller like himself. He also thinks it’s funny how it sounds a thousand times worse when coming from someone else’s tongue. He does exactly all that on a daily basis and doesn’t bat a single eyelash.

At least, not until something disrupts the pattern. A disturbance makes Donghyuck take a step back to reconsider and _that_ is a liability to the rhythm of his life. It’s just that he was never taught the possibility of said disturbance manifesting as gorgeous, mysterious, fuckable Renjun who digests all his thoughts and secrets. 

“You don’t agree?” Renjun hums. He reaches his hand over to Donghyuck’s thigh, giving him slow rubs. “Riddle me this then—when was the last time you were in love?”

Donghyuck doesn’t respond because he doesn’t remember—neither when the last time was nor what it’s supposed to feel like. Things his brain has chosen not to remember for his own sake.

Like a trance, Renjun threads his fingers through his long locks. Gazing endlessly at the headrest of the empty passenger seat in front of him. The taxi drives over a deep puddle that cries a roaring splash. 

“My answer is the same as yours.”

  


—

  


Everything becomes a blur with the wine in their bloodstreams. 

Hot breaths. Wet kisses. Wishful touching. Salacious gazes that somehow have room to be melancholic. 

It’s a wonderful surprise when Renjun turns out to be wearing a pair of women’s panties, white lace, tiny ribbons and barely providing coverage for his cock. His precome from Donghyuck pulling his dress’ straps down and playing with his nipples seeps through, unfortunately soiling the silky material.

“You’re so wet, baby,” Donghyuck says with a low chuckle, tongue swirling around one of Renjun’s erect nubs. “You just can’t wait for my cock, huh?”

Renjun mewls Donghyuck’s name as his hand slips under the lace, wrapping his fingers around his erection. “I’ve been horny all night. Wore this just for you.”

“Mm. You know how to get me excited.”

While Donghyuck strokes Renjun’s cock, the latter moans and kisses into Donghyuck’s neck with the subconscious movements of his hips from the pleasure. His hands clutch and dishevel the sunkissed locks of gold, bringing Donghyuck close to him, inadvertently prompting him to bite on his nipple.

“Donghyuck,” he whines, throwing his head back. Donghyuck’s palm is busy massaging Renjun’s twitching cock, pushing him to climax, plagued with the memory of Renjun’s delectable expressions when he comes. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Donghyuck breathes, a thought that comes tumbling off his tongue that plays with Renjun’s nipple. A thought that hasn’t left his mind since Renjun ran his hand down Donghyuck’s chest and pressed himself too close when they entered his VIP suite. Renjun in his hands, shivering under the work of his lips, yet forever unattainable in all his beauty.

Briskly, Renjun pulls Donghyuck’s face up and brings their lips together, each shoving and fighting for more of the champagne’s aftertaste left in their mouths. Tongues that mangle with one another, stuffing pleased moans into each other’s throats. Ardently drinking what they give each other like it’ll be their last.

“Fuck, Donghyuck—”

Renjun tosses his head to the side, the indecent cry bursting in Donghyuck’s eardrums who pumps his hand vigorously until Renjun’s entire figure shakes, fresh come spilling onto his hand. Donghyuck’s so close too, but he won’t be satisfied until he takes Renjun, all for himself. 

“ _Lotion,_ ” Renjun dazedly mumbles, propping himself up by Donghyuck’s shoulders. “Left some out on the nightstand.”

This makes Donghyuck chuckle. He stretches his arm to snatch the container of lube on said nightstand, its contents half empty. “Seems like _tsuyu_ isn’t the only thing you’re well prepared for.”

Renjun scoffs. “Just get on with it. I can feel your dick twitching under me.”

Fingers lubed and slippery, Donghyuck toys with Renjun’s panties before tugging it to the side, finding his entrance twitching in anticipation. As Renjun moans his positive response to him rubbing circles, Donghyuck bites down on his lip, pushing a digit in slowly. 

“Not so tight anymore,” Donghyuck teases, grinning at the embarrassment washing over Renjun’s face.

“Whose fault is that?” huffs Renjun, brows tilted into a frown. The frown morphs into helpless, glittering eyes when Donghyuck introduces a second finger, and then a third soon after. His fingers dig in deep as they can, their fast pace unforgiving. His thin arms find their spot hugging Donghyuck’s neck, helping him stick out his ass further. 

Renjun tilts his chin when Donghyuck brushes his lips along his neck in interest, giving him permission to ravish his smooth skin. When Renjun releases something that’s both a sigh and a whine, Donghyuck glances up at him quizzically. The zipper of his trousers come undone by Renjun’s hands and soon enough, his touch caresses his stiff cock.

“I’m not waiting. I need you in me now,” Renjun says quietly, forcibly pulling Donghyuck out of his ass (but not without a subsequent whimper at the sudden loss of pressure). His knees drift, repositioning himself higher, still grabbing onto Donghyuck’s erection tightly.

Donghyuck raises a brow. “Baby, I haven’t prepped you enou—”

His rebuttal is interrupted by the sudden warmth introduced to his cock that comes with Renjun slowly sitting on him, both of them harmonizing their resulting groan. Renjun even starts moving on his own, patience having run out a while ago, rhymically traveling up and down to take in Donghyuck’s full length.

“God, fuck,” Donghyuck mutters, his growl coming from deep in his chest. Renjun, eyes half-lidded, stares right into Donghyuck’s with his tongue weakly sticking out, nearly drooling from the pleasure. His eyes plead for Donghyuck’s cock and he can’t possibly disobey his princess.

Hands cupping Renjun’s ass, Donghyuck’s strength further moves Renjun in larger strides along his cock, each time landing against his lap with a lewd _thump_ resounding. 

Renjun rides him with Donghyuck guiding, moaning almost each time he falls to the base of his cock until Donghyuck decides it isn’t enough—he rises, pushing forward, Renjun gasping as he descends onto his back, facing the creamy white ceiling and Donghyuck hovering above him. 

Within the second, Donghyuck strips himself of his dress shirt and throws it across the bed, not caring where it falls to. Renjun reaches up to Donghyuck’s bare shoulders as his toned torso inclines, back arching. His hands snake behind, nails digging into Donghyuck’s back as his hips give a mighty thrust.

“S- So big,” Renjun stutters, barely able to form a proper sentence without Donghyuck’s thrusts compelling him to mindlessly moan into the air. Donghyuck’s palms hold back Renjun’s legs by the thighs and he bites down on a silver necklace while he grunts, piston movements aggressive and hungry. 

Red-faced Renjun below him, moaning by the work of his cock is all he could ask for—no matter the type of lights illuminating his lithe figure, his expression that’s either flirtatiously cocky or maddeningly stricken with pleasure, Renjun is beautiful. 

Whenever Donghyuck looks at Renjun submitting to the guilty lust, his name uncontrollably slipping off his tongue, it feels like being stabbed in the heart. It hurts and he bleeds, the blood gushing onto Renjun, painting him a magnificent body of wine. But neither of them have the leniency to particularly care and wonder where the night will take them, nor is it ever the right answer. 

Just the moment, like Renjun once (un)soberly said. 

“Renjun,” Donghyuck moans so many times he loses count somewhere along the way. He gets an abrupt urge to hold Renjun’s hand, his arms having sprawled limp onto the mattress by this point. 

The bed quakes with every violent thrust, Donghyuck’s pace so rapid that Renjun can certainly no longer formulate words, only the cries of something that resembles Donghyuck’s name.

Donghyuck holds Renjun’s hand tight, fingers intertwined and tense, though Renjun’s remain listless. Simply him squinting his eyes, a gentle tear trickling down the wing of his eyeliner, his walls so tight around Donghyuck’s cock that it becomes a challenge to move freely. 

Nevertheless, Donghyuck ruthlessly thrusts on to the lullaby of Renjun’s nonstop, high-pitched whining, the scene flashing a blank canvas when he takes one hard slam into Renjun’s ass, come splurting out. As they pant heavily, Renjun’s body does gentle jerks in orgasm, the warmth filling him and its pleasure nearly knocking him unconscious.

For a couple prolonged seconds, Donghyuck stays still, his cock twitching as it continuously releases his lust into Renjun. Even as he finishes and carefully pulls himself out, watching his come follow suit and dampen the mattress, neither of them say anything. They merely listen to each other breathing, the occasional faint car honks from outdoors, the rain crashing on the window. 

Donghyuck silently admires Renjun’s pulchritude, blinking at their still conjoined hands. Renjun looks away, murky eyes curtaining for the night.

  


—

  


When Donghyuck wakes up, he’s met with disheveled tufts of short silver hair rising from the king size bed, shuffling in his slippers across the carpet floor. 

Donghyuck’s vision remains foggy as he brings his arm over the linen blanket. Curtains of the balcony’s glass doors pull apart and the morning sunshine scorches his eyes. He grunts as he lifts himself up from the smushed pillow, his necklace dangling, an unexpectedly chilling touch against his bare chest. 

The first thing he notices is the closet wide open. Inside are a variety of expensive-looking dresses on clothes hangers, one of which is last night’s plaid dress that Renjun, covered in a fluffy bathrobe, adds to the collection.

Donghyuck, barely able to process that he’s staring at Renjun, merely yawns. 

“Do you only have dresses in there?” he drowsily asks, causing Renjun to turn his head. He looks exhausted—or maybe that’s just the effect of the stark contrast in not having dazzling makeup on.

“No,” Donghyuck hears Renjun reply flatly. “I have a pair of suits. But those are only for when I go see my dad and the airport.”

The slight frown on Donghyuck’s lips goes unnoticed, him remembering that Renjun traveled a long distance to arrive at Tokyo. 

“When are you leaving?” The sudden question, coming out rather apathetic, makes Donghyuck tilt his head, his expression perplexed. Renjun shoots a glance at him and it is anything but friendly—not an ounce of his cheery, impish self is there. “I don’t like having people over.”

Donghyuck would be lying if he said he isn’t taken aback by the icy treatment. 

“You invited me here.”

“I expect my one night stands to leave by nine.”

“This is our second time.”

Renjun travels to the foot of the bed, crouching down to pick up something. “Our second one night stand,” he corrects, chucking Donghyuck’s shirt and blazer at him. “Leave. You’ll see me again soon.”

The promise of another meeting is apparently enough for Donghyuck, who shrugs and lazily throws on his clothing as he crawls out of bed. He considers giving Renjun a chaste morning kiss but he’s already shut himself in the bathroom, the water faucet running loudly. 

Although Donghyuck feels defeated, all he can do is assume Renjun isn’t a morning person and quietly leave the room, ignoring the way his stomach churns.

  


—

  


Finding a seat at Shinjuku’s Blue Bottle Coffee cafe, even before the clock strikes ten is difficult. Renjun is lucky that Doyoung is the one who promised to grab seats for both of them, yet unlucky in that Doyoung wants to speak to him over coffee.

“You didn’t have to get me a drink too,” Renjun says when he joins the one boring holes into his tablet, pulling up the seat at the counter beside him. 

Doyoung shrugs, taking a sip of his hot cappuccino. Renjun picks up his iced latte, sipping as he gets comfortable in the stool. 

“You’re still a little kid in my eyes,” Doyoung remarks, sighing over an email he just read on his screen. Renjun wonders if he’s actually slept in the past 48 hours, something he tends to not do. “It’d be embarrassing to let you treat me.”

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Whatever, old man.”

Doyoung gets over his offense at the nickname quickly, shifting so that he’ll face Renjun. He offers an affable smile, pushing up his circular glasses.

“How are you? How’s Tokyo been?”

In an all too obvious manner, Renjun avoids Doyoung’s gaze, his lips mumbling, “The usual,” under his breath. The smile takes its time to fade from Doyoung’s face, especially when he detects the faint sparkle of lip gloss on Renjun.

Renjun’s shoulders become taut when Doyoung sighs again.

“I told you so many times to stop last year.”

“I can’t help it, okay?” Renjun says, his volume a couple notches higher than just moments prior. Though his brows are furrowed and his eyes intense, to Doyoung he almost sounds like he’s on the verge of crying. “It’s the only thing that doesn’t leave me feeling like I’m nothing.”

Doyoung looks cross. “Your father would be really worri—”

“ _My father_ does not give a shit about his alcoholic son.”

The way Renjun’s lips quiver is nothing short of concern for Doyoung, a long-time mentor and friend of Renjun. Doyoung, a financial manager of Crystal Tear’s Tokyo hotel, has kept in touch with his boss’ son even before he graduated high school, acting as an older brother figure of sorts. Renjun has confided in Doyoung during these past years, the major subject being his relationship with drinking.

“He never has,” Renjun continues as though spitting on his father’s name. “Why else would he be sending me all this money? So I can admit myself into Japan’s finest rehab center?”

Doyoung puts his hand on top of Renjun’s. They’re fortunate that the customers sitting nearby don’t understand their conversation.

“Renjun, let me help you.” Doyoung pauses, flattening his lips. “I can’t stand seeing you ruin yourself like this.”

Like the calm before a storm, Renjun suppresses his growing impulse to lash out at Doyoung and start sobbing on the floor. He hates talking about his issues, especially to someone who he knows genuinely cares. It hurts himself, sure, that he doesn’t mind—but Doyoung looks so worried, too. 

Staring at those rueful, gentle eyes stirs anger in Renjun. Anger directed at no one else but himself. How pathetic he is to spoil what should’ve been peaceful morning caffeination for the surely overworked manager. To give him something else on top of his workload to be troubled with, when that something is purely his fault.

“I appreciate the concern but I’m fine.” Renjun gets up from his seat, grabbing his iced coffee, displeased by its moist container. “This is what I want,” he tells mostly himself. 

“Renjun,” Doyoung says, trying to grab Renjun’s wrist but aware that it’s too late, he decides against it.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Renjun softly mutters, turning on his heel.

“You’re losing yourself.” Doyoung’s warning stops Renjun in his tracks, just before he parts from the counter. “You’ll drown in your regrets.”

There’s frozen silence, Renjun’s gaze paralyzed with misery, him uttering, “Who’s to say I haven’t already?” And then all Doyoung sees is his back, shrinking as he departs from the cafe grounds.

  


—

  


Champagne never ends, never goes away. As long as Renjun is buying and Donghyuck has a mouth.

“ _Cheers to our lovely Princess Renra!_ ”

Is Renjun’s throat parched?

Donghyuck stares with a hole in his intestines.

Going along with the hosts who chant _chug,_ Renjun devours Donghyuck’s fluid feelings, digesting it or alternatively, if he has too much, he regurgitates everything and returns it to him with a sorry-not-sorry smile. Reminiscent of the way newbies who are forced to drink way beyond their limit puke in the toilet before the alcohol has a chance to seize control of their system. Solely for the sake of performatively drinking more, giving the line of unknowing customers a night to remember. 

Donghyuck knows it all too much. Sometimes he can feel the phantom of vomit crawling up his esophagus and hear the emotionless voices of his seniors to _take care of it._

It’s his turn now, so he fashions a happy smile and brings the bottle to his lips, nearly forgetting how the swallowing function works when the sparkling wine douses him.

The drink is lukewarm. Of course it is, it sits in the back storage of the clubhouse until the fateful day a rich someone buys it. Despite that, Donghyuck had been hoping for something chilled. Something to shake his nerves and torture his head with throbbing pain if it means he’ll stop thinking about Renjun his every waking hour. 

Which wouldn’t be effective, anyways. Filling his lungs with champagne purchased by Renjun is exactly what the devil wants. He should know that. 

“Why me?”

“Why you?”

“Out of all the hosts here, why did you choose me?” Donghyuck wipes champagne residue from his mouth with the back of his hand, too lazy to grab a towel. “I know you said you know your type. But there’s something beyond that, right?”

Renjun’s smile blends into the dim lighting. 

“You look like you can keep up.”

“With what?” Donghyuck asks, trying to find his gaze.

A glass in Renjun’s hand highlights his skinny digits. “Me, obviously.”

Donghyuck stares into the table at his booth. Uncertain if he’s meeting Renjun’s expectations and in the same breath, wondering why it matters. 

“I honestly don’t know if I can, Renjun.”

“Ah-ah.” Renjun places his fingertip on Donghyuck’s lips with a wink. “Renra, remember? Now drink.”

Lifting his glass in the air, Renjun easily leans back in the cushion and cheers silently to the gods of the night. And so Donghyuck drinks with a smile because that’s all he can do.

  


—

  


“Gotta check in with my manager for a second. I won’t be long.”

Renjun smiles compliantly, nodding his head. Donghyuck pats him on the arm and leaves the lobby area, slipping far into the back rooms. 

The hallway is narrow enough for him and his senior passing by to awkwardly walk sideways like crabs. The cardboard boxes sitting around the place, mostly from wine shipments certainly don’t help the situation of tight space. Then again, any given building in the populated Shinjuku streets is unreasonably slender. It’s a surprise any of them can withstand the yearly earthquakes and roaring typhoons peaking in autumntime. He supposes underestimating architects and the sciences of constructing buildings isn’t a smart idea. And rude, probably.

As promised, Donghyuck and his manager have a brief conversation regarding work and his late escalation in sales. Apparently, he’s gotten to the point where he could outsale the fifth host of Queen Bee and trump his ranking.

Normally he’d be thrilled at the news but he knows it’s only thanks to one person—the rest of his customers haven’t been too pleased in their recent visits. Donghyuck thanks his manager anyways, bowing and greeting him a good night before leaving the “boss room”.

When he returns to the lobby, Renjun is nowhere to be seen. He huffs—did he really get impatient enough to leave? He swears he only spoke to his manager for a couple minutes, not even five. He tries searching around the host club, wondering maybe if he went to use the bathroom. That’s when his ears pick up on the faint, deep moaning behind a closed door. 

Well, an _almost_ closed door.

The door to one of the storage rooms where they keep bottles of liquor, which is left opened just slightly. Donghyuck, cautiously approaching so as to not alert whoever is in there, peeks through the crack of light. It’s difficult to discern who the one standing is, but the one kneeling in front of him with his mouth to his crotch is undeniably Renjun.

His coworker. And Renjun. The coworker moaning in pleasure from the magic of Renjun’s lips. Donghyuck’s stomach twists and turns into a painful ache; he has to look away for it to stop. But he can still hear those moans and the faint, wet noises of Renjun’s saliva of someone’s cock. Someone that isn’t Donghyuck. 

It takes every last drop of his self-control to not erupt when Donghyuck pretends he saw nothing. Watching Renjun emerge from the room with a smile, licking the remains of someone else’s come left on the edge of his lips. Drinking it just as effortlessly as he does with Donghyuck’s champagne, gaze lazy without a single care in the world.

“What was that about?”

Standing outside the building, they’re both greeted with the humid city air. Donghyuck is hotter than he’d usually be, sudden anger boiling inside him.

“You are _my_ customer. Not that guy’s.”

Renjun is casual as ever, tossing back a section of his long locks.

“What’s gotten into you?” he questions, narrowing his eyes. “Since when did being your customer entail commitment? Don’t act like I just cheated on you.”

Donghyuck, attempting to retort but giving up immediately, kicks a crushed beer can lying on the ground. 

Yeah, what’s gotten into him? In the end, that’s what they are—Renjun demands, Donghyuck supplies. An unspoken contract that they simultaneously signed when Renra walked into the Queen Bee for the first time. 

The golden promise of _no strings attached_ has never left his mind until now, when he’s full of unreasonable envy, distraught that Renjun could move on from him in the blink of an eye. That Renjun can fly away and leave Donghyuck, wingless, alone, whenever he pleases. 

Renjun feigns innocence. A tablet of Clorets’ lime mint gum pops into his mouth, chewing on Donghyuck’s heartstrings. All he can smell is the refreshing citrus. 

“I pay you to be a temporary filling for the permanent hole in my heart,” Renjun says, blunt, chewing cruelly. “Just like all the other girls who come and pick you off the menu. Don’t you know that?”

“I know,” Donghyuck pushes through gritted teeth. 

It’s true, he knows. He knows and prefers a reality where he doesn’t. His days of purity, before the black hand of Kabukicho smeared hot tar over his soul—he wishes he could take it back. The capacity for raw love, drenched in sparkling gold and mixed saliva, buried so deep that he forgot it even existed in the first place. 

Except he remembers now and his conscience tells him he’s a hundred steps too late.

“So grumpy. Maybe a good _fela_ will cheer you up.”

That’s not it, Donghyuck wants to say. But Renjun’s bewitching gaze and fingers playing his arm like a piano shoo his thoughts away and when their lips touch like fire, Donghyuck forgets all over again.

  


—

  


Two stalls down, the toilet flushes and an Australian businessman walks past Renjun and Donghyuck fervently making out. 

“We could’ve just waited until we got to your room,” Donghyuck whispers against Renjun’s lips. His arm wraps around his waist, rubbing circles into his chiffon blouse. 

Renjun giggles, gently biting on Donghyuck’s lower lip.

“Doesn’t it turn you on? Hearing people’s footsteps right by our stall?”

His hands wander down Donghyuck’s torso, traveling to his belt, teasingly undoing the buckles. Donghyuck groans when Renjun presses a warm palm on his crotch, cupping the obvious, hardened shape underneath his clothing. Renjun enjoys every bit of Donghyuck squirming, trying to stifle his groans.

“I’m blaming you if we get caught,” Donghyuck mumbles as Renjun lowers to his knees and pulls down his fly.

“Better stay quiet while I suck your dick then.”

The back of Donghyuck’s head lands with a muted _thud_ against the stall door as do his hands, desperate to grasp onto something as Renjun takes his erect cock in his mouth gleefully. 

The pure white ceiling, bathroom door flinging open to sharp footsteps and water running, Renjun’s tongue on his cock—Donghyuck gets dizzy in the midst of dirty pleasure and sowed seeds of infatuation. 

Come rain or shine, they grow and take root in Donghyuck’s heart.

Business is what this is. He’s done it plenty of times before. Hotel room, hotel bathroom, his apartment, all become the same once they strip their clothes. Going home with a drunk lady hooked to his arm, teasingly pressing her breasts to his muscles. Filling the gaps of a long night with hot breaths and moans. Waking up to her perfume stuffed in his nostrils, unable to recall how he got here until, oh yeah, that’s right. He’s a host with the availability for after-hours services. 

Business never hurt this good.

  


—

  


“You smoke?”

Renjun picks out a cigarette from a Seven Stars pack, also something that was kept hidden under the cash in his purse. He barely offers Donghyuck a side glance, lighting and pinching it between his two longest fingers. Donghyuck scrunches his nose when he smells the smoke traveling to his half of the bed.

“What of it?” Renjun says after puffing, leaning back onto the pillow. Donghyuck keeps his arm over his shoulders, sitting close together on the bed. Bare skin touching, no longer sticky after the air conditioner kicked in. 

Renjun took everything off aside from the makeup once they finished for the night—Renjun in the raw flesh, dark circles under his even darker eyes that foundation couldn't manage to hide.

Donghyuck frowns. “It’s not good for you.”

“ _It’s not good for you,_ ” Renjun mockingly repeats, tapping the ashtray sitting on the nightstand. “And how much do you drink on work nights?”

“Too much,” defeatedly, Donghyuck answers. 

His lips flatten; he never liked when people smoke, not even when most of his acquaintances and customers do. And, now he discovers, especially when Renjun does in his presence. 

“I can tell.” Renjun’s eyes focus on the black flat-screen sitting ahead of them. “You know, it’s good to know your limit when you overdrink. That way you’ll know the exact moment when you’ve fucked yourself over. It’s a weird type of comfort.”

“I… don’t know what my exact limit is,” Donghyuck says. 

The line between tipsy and deadly drinking has always been blurred for him. Before he can figure out where the line is drawn, either another serving is shoved down his throat or he rushes to the bathroom for a reset.

Deep inhale, smoke-tainted exhale. 

“Don’t worry. That’s a good thing.”

  


—

  


“Renjun, can we talk?”

Renjun grumbles something inaudible as he turns under the blanket, drowsy eyes glaring at Donghyuck next to him. For once, Donghyuck is brighter than he is in the morning hours.

“About our relationship, I mean,” Donghyuck candidly adds, brushing a part of the silver hair that covers Renjun’s fluttering lashes.

Turning onto his back, Renjun rubs his eyes with another low mumble.

“Donghyuck,” he finally says, his voice gruff. “I stopped doing relationships a long time ago.”

The air conditioner had been running all night to compensate for the summer heat. But the chill Donghyuck feels is different from the cool, robotic winds. 

“Then what are we?” 

_If not friends with benefits,_ he almost adds.

No amount of morning sunshine passes through the black of Renjun’s gaze.

“A marketing ploy.”

With a sigh, Renjun slowly lifts himself by the elbows, outstretching his arms in a prolonged yawn. The ridges of his spine that pokes through his pale back—Donghyuck mindlessly counts how many he sees. Too many.

Renjun peers over his shoulder. “You aren’t working tonight, are you?”

Donghyuck shakes his head. A tiny smile on his lips, Renjun rolls over to lay atop Donghyuck’s larger frame, blinking his eyes at him sweetly. His elbows bend under his chin, resting. 

“Let’s have dinner. My treat. Get something other than that French juice in your stomach,” Renjun suggests, miming walking legs with his fingers on Donghyuck’s chest. 

The offer is impossible to decline. A grin floats on Donghyuck’s lips as his hand endearingly cups Renjun’s cheek, enjoying its softness like pudding.

“I can pay, sweetheart.”

Renjun scoffs as though he’s offended. “I could buy ownership of the host club you work at and it wouldn’t make a dent in my monthly allowance. My treat, Donghyuck. Meet me here at six.”

It feels so perfect, Renjun’s slender figure on top of Donghyuck and his face in his palm, exchanging loving stares like no other person exists in the world. It’s new like an unexplored flavor of ice cream that’s better than he ever imagined, so now he craves a whole pint of it. 

When Renjun plants a terse kiss on Donghyuck’s lips, he wishes they could stay together longer, just for a few measly minutes. But Renjun is already pushing himself off the bed to go fix his bed hair and Donghyuck is left missing his bodily warmth. Always one step ahead of him.

  


—

  


Although Donghyuck has never been the biggest fan of seafood, the Kurage izakaya and its otherworldly dishes are more than enough to change his mind about fishy cuisine. 

When he and Renjun share a toast “to the night”—as vague as it is, they don’t have anything in particular to celebrate—Donghyuck grimaces at Renjun downing his pitcher of Kirin beer. 

“I don’t get how you drink that putrid piss,” Donghyuck remarks, sipping his much preferred glass of sweet, fruity _umeshu._

Renjun laughs heartily. “Oh, come on. It’s just beer. You’re drinking some baby juice in my humble opinion.”

Donghyuck smiles.

It is unbelievably refreshing to be sitting across Renjun, _Renjun_ at their table in a local pub. For one, izakayas aren’t high-end restaurants that Donghyuck was assuming Renjun was planning to treat him to dinner at. They’re average pubs where friends and coworkers alike gather after a long day to indulge in plentiful beer or _sake_ , washing down appetizers over comical stories about their cousin-in-laws. 

The other thing is that Renjun isn’t dressed lavishly with eyeliner and lashes—the Renjun that Donghyuck watches grow red from the beer is in a sleek suit, his silver hair lazily tossed to the side. Stuffing his laughter at Donghyuck’s horror tales about working as a host with bites of grilled kinmedai and yaki-onigiri. This is the first time Donghyuck has seen him outdoors, the Renra persona left behind at home. 

Lovestruck would be an understatement to describe the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach Donghyuck feels each time he looks at Renjun having the time of his life. Renjun has always been a flawless gem in his eyes, wig or not, but now that he sees what’s truly beyond the fashion and makeup, Donghyuck can’t sit still.

“Somehow you’re even hotter without… everything,” Donghyuck admits when Renjun questions the excessive gawking.

Renjun’s pinky taps his bottom lip. “I still have my lip gloss on.”

Donghyuck nearly dies on a bite of takowasa that stings much more than he was anticipating. 

“I just never realized how naturally gorgeous you are.”

“Mhm,” Renjun mutters into his last quarter of his beer, grinning. “There’s lots of things you haven’t realized about me.”

“Like what, exactly?”

Renjun’s now empty jug slams onto the table as he contentedly sighs. “Why would I tell you? That ruins the secret.” 

He raises his hand for a nearby waitress to take his order for a second drink, Donghyuck piping in to add a sashimi platter. Renjun glances back to Donghyuck, suddenly stern—jokingly though, judging from his lips that can’t restrain his smile. 

“Some things are better off as secrets. It turns them into lovely treasures.”

Donghyuck exhales, pursing his lips as he does so. “Your entire being is like a treasure to me,” he mumbles. 

The crowd of salarymen surrounding their table blather loud enough to drown out his words. Renjun tilts his head, having not heard Donghyuck. He plays it off with a shake of his head, deciding it best that Renjun doesn’t listen to his wistful soliloquy. 

There’s not a single dull moment as they take their precious time through more plates, more gluttonous dishes alongside a variety of liquor over the next hours. Being drunk could be something extraordinarily fun, Donghyuck thinks in awe as he watches Renjun giggle and exclaim how delicious his bowl of kitsune udon is. 

Donghyuck likes it when Renjun dresses up like a doll, fit for a black-tie gala, skinny champagne glass in hand. But when Renjun blends in with the crowd of common salarymen, honest to how boisterous and mischievous he acts when he’s brimming with alcohol and a hot meal, Donghyuck is genuinely, regretfully in love. 

Renjun doesn’t need glitter on his face to illuminate Donghyuck’s entire field of vision. All he needs is his silly, smooth laughter and the occasional sly remark about Donghyuck’s work or the way he holds his chopsticks. 

Something raw, tender, so vulnerable to the claws of Shinjuku. And Donghyuck is afraid. 

Shinjuku does not turn a blind eye to blooming gardens. Eventually, this will all fade because things are a facade and no matter how hard he tries, Donghyuck can’t capture the gleaming Renjun and keep him close. Regardless if Renjun reciprocates those desires. 

“Donghyuck, how do you feel about dessert?”

  


—

  


Donghyuck doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong. 

Donghyuck thought this night would be different. Donghyuck thought he came to terms with how he feels about Renjun, what he wants to be with Renjun, but their nightly rendezvous is unchanging. 

Not a single beat is different. Same words every night they indulge in their lust and this time Renjun cries like a lamb, alone, searching for the lush meadow where he’s supposed to be. Renjun is so bright in Donghyuck’s arms but the Tokyo neon blinds his eyes to the point where he can’t see Renjun or his hands anymore. 

All he can do is search and feel for something tangible in the brilliant darkness. And from the way Renjun chooses to close his eyes, he must not be able to see anything either.

“It was always meant to be this way,” Donghyuck imagines Renjun whispering while he stares at him laying underneath his shadow. The view that is Renjun’s flushed face, permanently open mouth spilling Donghyuck’s name, hair clinging onto his forehead from sweat ridicules him like no other. 

His eyes are, in the moment, swirling with a lustful need for Donghyuck but when searching far past that, Donghyuck finds nothing. Not even Renjun’s soul. 

“Renjun, please,” Donghyuck utters in an in-between of a moan and rueful cry. Renjun barely pays attention, his face held to the side, body convulsing with the powerful force of Donghyuck’s cock, thrusting into him hundreds of times. “I need you so bad, Renjun.”

“Come,” Renjun mumbles into Donghyuck’s neck, hugging him with his frail arms. 

Renjun’s wish is his command, but Donghyuck thought he wasn’t supposed to suffer when heeding to his majesty’s words. His cock in Renjun’s ass, it feels so goddamn good, so much so that Donghyuck sheds a couple tears that fall onto Renjun’s cheek.

 _I need you, Renjun._

An incantation that the devil writes for Donghyuck to perform, akin to a pair of shoes full of thorns inside. He’ll dance the night away in those shoes, bleeding onto the dance floor. Renjun will applaud him, join him, and be on his merry way when Donghyuck finally succumbs to his wounds and collapses under the spotlight. The puddle of his gone blood caressing him because nothing else will.

  


—

  


“I’m leaving tomorrow. Flying back to Kitakyushu.”

Donghyuck slowly comes to his senses and his first choked question is: “When will I see you again?”

Renjun quietly walks around the bed to pick up his clothing items, no spare looks for the Donghyuck who continuously drops into trepidation. 

“Didn’t think you’d want to,” Renjun says with a sigh, threading his arms through his wrinkled dress shirt. “Thought you don't do that sort of thing. You and me both. That's why we can do this to each other.” He shoots a glance at Donghyuck on his bed, overall expression indifferent. “For fun, right?”

Donghyuck’s thoughts come flowing all at once, ending up garbled and his tongue struggling to find words. The rest of his body reacts faster, tossing the blanket aside and approaching Renjun already somewhat dressed in his suit. 

“But it’s different with you,” Donghyuck says, his voice shaky. All Renjun does is raise an eyebrow at him while smoothing the crinkles in his blazer. “I… I don’t really know how to say it.”

“Yeah?” Renjun faces him, crossing arms over his chest with crooked, flat lips. “Is it ‘cause you usually fuck the ladies?”

“Renjun, you know that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean then? Explain it to me.”

The emptiness of Renjun’s eyes that sternly glare at Donghyuck sends shivers down his spine. They’re dead, essentially. Yet despite his soulless gaze, Donghyuck can see how his lips faintly quiver and his chin follows suit, trembling. Donghyuck tries and tries to search for his answer, Renjun’s well-deserved explanation—and there’s nothing. 

“You don’t know,” Renjun hoarsely whispers, almost losing his voice entirely. He hurriedly throws on his blazer, grabs his wallet left on the drawer. “This is why people stick to things they’re familiar with.”

Before Renjun manages to march to the door, Donghyuck stops him by grabbing his forearm. When he does, Renjun’s body halts in his spot and he stares at Donghyuck with sharp hostility to hide his anguish. His jaw shifts impatiently, Donghyuck gulping, wondering when he’s going to fucking spit out one of the million things he’s wanted to tell Renjun these past days. 

“Don’t go. Please,” Donghyuck begs.

Renjun’s chest rises and falls with his long, fatigued sigh. 

“The lounge. Midnight. Don’t be late.”

  


—

  


It comes as no surprise when Donghyuck, spiritually battered and drained of energy, is kicked out of the club by his manager in the middle of his shift. 

“ _Go clear your head and actually do something productive,_ ” he was told after being caught staring blankly at the drink, silent as a ghost, his customer fuming next to him. 

And so he wanders aimlessly on the streets of Kabukicho, “clearing” his head by jamming it with the ambiance of a red light district at its peak hour. 

Donghyuck finds it laughable—though he doesn’t physically chortle—when a young, blonde, unshaven guy shoves a flier his way as he strolls past a neighboring _kyabakura._

“ _You look like you could use some company,_ ” the guy says, and Donghyuck has no choice but to accept the flier. He reads the sparkling stage names of cabaret girls underneath individual _purikura_ -level edited photos with big eyes and impossibly smooth skin. “ _First visit is a one-time fee and you get to see all the girls!_ ”

The offer doesn’t tempt Donghyuck. As a person of the area, he knows the phrasing these advertisers use on the streets to draw in unknowing customers. _You get to see all the girls—you’re gonna be forced to buy drinks for every hostess you make eye contact with._

“ _Thanks,_ ” is all Donghyuck mutters with a fake smile, stuffing the flier in his pocket once he’s walked past the guy. 

It’s funny. This is how business goes, for hosts like himself and hostesses alike. The thousands of people working under the night’s scrutiny, people who’ve sold their souls to the queen devil of Kabukicho. Slowly but surely, the industry of plastic smiles, plastic love will replace organic blood with the chemicals of human desires until the city crafts one large Bloody Mary for the queen to sip.

Donghyuck checks his wristwatch. There’s still an hour left until midnight—he could have a drink or two at some local bar to burn his time, but tonight he has the feeling he can’t stomach anything until he meets with Renjun.

Renjun, getting on a flight back to Fukuoka tomorrow. Flying away to the southern region without leaving a trace of himself left, not any evidence that he ever existed and walked the streets of Shinjuku. Except for the mark of his pen-drawn heart, branded onto the gruesome muscle and pumps of Donghyuck’s own heart running an endless marathon. A marathon that doesn’t end even when there’s no more ground, the path dropping into the deep waters. 

There isn’t a square inch of Kabukicho that he could travel to without being surrounded by flashy billboards, posters and more of host and hostess clubs. Sometimes there are pop-ups of text next to their faces frozen in a sultry smile, describing their best features or what to expect when buying their attention. 

_Fuck,_ Donghyuck thinks, hiding his hands in his trousers’ pockets. _I’m one of them._

Never has reality hit him like a truck until now as he takes a stroll down an aisle of clubs that sell human interaction. So many faces powdered and painted to look nearly identical, following the same trend of what’s considered hot and sexy. The same poses of a head tilt, eyes wide at the camera. Donghyuck used to pride himself in being different, having unique hairstyles and looks and a particularly mischievous personality. 

But now, gazing at his brothers and sisters of Kabukicho, he’s not sure if he was any different to begin with. Not to the city, not to any of his customers.

Certainly not to Renjun. 

Donghyuck never liked those flashy advertisements and the ranking pictures. Pausing in front of his old friend’s host club, he can clearly see why.

The sight of Queen Bee’s ranking and Haechan’s face at sixth transfers onto the image of a host with jet-black hair and a stoic expression who goes by “Rei.” Their faces plastered on top of a previous host who fell out, either from the rankings or the glory of red light life. Replacing them to pretend they never existed. The vague visage of older, no-longer-here hosts whose names they’ll never remember. 

Donghyuck’s face up there for the whole of Kabukicho and Shinjuku to point and stare at. Announcing to everyone walking by that he’s one of those pitiful souls who sold everything to the devil. And now the devil has him framed upon the wall among a million other faces. 

Kabukicho. Drinking until throats are dried to a crisp and there’s room for nothing more. Unable to say the things that matter until the second they don’t.

  


—

  


“Donghyuck.”

The sink of the bathroom is ice cold when Donghyuck pushes his palm on its marble surface. Their mouths aflame, Renjun adding another one to the collection of brands with his glazed lips.

Donghyuck threads his fingers through Renjun’s silvery locks. His ears block anything beyond the soft bathroom music of the lounge and the wetness of their lips and tongues crashing against each other. Renjun’s soft whines when Donghyuck desperately kisses his neck, hand trapping him by the waist in one last plea.

“Donghyuck, please,” Renjun says, pushing Donghyuck away by the shoulders. Donghyuck stares at him, his lips falling apart. An insatiable need to feel the realness of Renjun’s warmth.

“Renjun…”

Renjun has to pause before he can speak again. “This isn’t helping. I came here to say goodbye.”

“Wait, Renjun,” Donghyuck adamantly protests, following his abrupt steps out of the bathroom, across the lounge and out to the open humidity of summer night. He chases for so long but Renjun is always arm’s length away. Nothing trailing behind for Donghyuck to grasp. 

Renjun stops at the sidewalk to approach a taxi and when he does, Donghyuck rushes up to him. Colony of ants rushing throughout his veins, tickling his skin from under, begging him to scratch and bleed his heart out. A thousand waves of all the cocktails and champagne he’s ever ingested, ready to be purged in one grotesque shirek. 

Say it, Donghyuck.

Chug.

“Renjun, I love you.”

The syllables feel like poison trickling down his throat. Renjun turns. Cars on the road rushing by aren’t loud enough to mask his shaky huff of air. The devil chuckles proudly from above and pours the Bloody Mary on Donghyuck’s crumbling figure.

“Do you really?”

Donghyuck tries touching Renjun’s hand, but it’s snatched away from him before he can. 

“I need you with me,” Donghyuck chokes out, watching the way a glistening coat on Renjun’s eyes protects him from fluorescent lights of city life. Something swells, one last stretch away from bursting into pieces and running down the sewage of leftover raindrops. “We can start again. Slow. I can wait. Just—please. You mean so much to me.”

It reeks. Alcohol laced on Donghyuck’s every breath, in every fiber of Renjun’s clothing.

Shrill cheers to the night sound from a bar’s open door. The wind blows, brushing Renjun’s hair messily. Renjun stares all the way into the end of Donghyuck’s wavering eyes. He keeps a front, his face hardened. For a second, the Tokyo neon shines its spotlight on his far-seated sorrow but as soon as Donghyuck sees it, it hides behind his lids. 

Staying dormant until the next. A treasure just like the others.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Donghyuck watches Renjun mouth _Crystal Tear_ when he sits inside the taxi, shaded by the tinted windows. The taxi drives on, Renjun timeless in his gaze fixated on the narrow road.

Despite every rattling noise of Kabukicho and Donghyuck’s outcries, it’s quiet.

  


—

  


Donghyuck barely makes the journey from the elevator to his door without collapsing over. Every night of the week he drinks like there’s no tomorrow, but seldom is it to suppress an inner turmoil of emotions.

An envelope sticks out from underneath his door. Grunting, he picks it up from the floor, vertigo jumbling the handwritten letters of his name in his mother language. His hands rip apart the paper, leaving jagged edges and bits of paper falling to his feet. 

There’s a check and a letter inside. The check, an indescribably large amount of cash scribbled in pen, reads like a one-way ticket to nowhere. The letter he unfolds is small, words even smaller and messy. 

_Find a better job. Don’t do this to yourself anymore._

_And drink less._

_Take care._

Donghyuck couldn’t keep up after everything, not like Renjun thought he could. He never learned what the difference between the taste of his bitter tears and overpriced champagne lingering on his tongue is. 

The flickering lights of the hallway, the shuffle of his overworn suit against the door taunts his woe as he slides, falls to his knees.

Soundlessly drowning in a cold river of every bottle he’s emptied, he wonders where the water flows to once he’s drunk himself numb. Wishing to be one with the stream, to find his place at the bottom of Renjun’s upturned glass that carries the faint imprint of his lip gloss.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading through this mess!  
> i'm kinda shy but i'll do my best to reply to your lovely comments T___T
> 
> (p.s. i made a [twitter](https://twitter.com/purpIecity) come say hi)


End file.
